


Making Saves

by delboyanddier



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Arsenal FC, F/M, Fluff, North London Derby, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 09:29:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17895926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delboyanddier/pseuds/delboyanddier
Summary: Bernd makes saves, on and off the pitch.Or:After the North London derby, you and Bernd realize your mutual attraction and hook up.





	Making Saves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_weatha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_weatha/gifts).



> This is a birthday present for the_weatha. If you enjoy this fic or have feedback, please leave a comment and let me know. Happy reading, everyone! :3

You hate everything about nightclubs: the seizure-inducing lights, the pounding music, the packed bodies. The drunk people who stumble into you and slur vulgar pick up lines. And above all, you hate Arsenal players who pull you onto the dance floor.

“C’mon Y/N. You promised you’d go dancing with us if we beat Spurs!” Alex smiles as he tugs your wrist.

“I only agreed because I thought you guys would lose.” You laugh as the blinding smile drops from Alex’s face.

“You’re no fun, _médecin_ ,” Pierre chides as his body rolls with the EDM blasting through the club, “We didn’t bring our favorite physio here just for her to stand in the corner. Dance with us!”

“No chance.” You shout over the bass that shakes your body. Someone bumps into you and you realize a crush of people surround you and the Arsenal players.

Pierre and Alex still tease your reluctance, all smiles and French exclamations, but you can’t hear them. The pulsing EDM drowns out their voices, the swarm of people seems to distance them from you. The colored lights and sweaty bodies start swirl around you, the dance floor spins and your legs go limp-

“Hey, you okay?” There’s hot breath in your ear, a hand on your back and a velvet voice you recognize instantly and suddenly your legs feel weak for an entirely different reason.

“I’m- I’m okay.” You turn your head slightly and take in Bernd’s furrowed brows, his concerned face a few centimeters from your own.

“Are you really? You’re swaying a lot for someone’s who’s okay.”

As if on cue, your knees buckle a little and you stumble back into Bernd, whose arm immediately wraps around your waist. Bernd raises an eyebrow, but tightens his hold on you.

“Sure you’re fine?”

“Okay, maybe I’m a little nauseous.”

“Let’s go get drinks, yea?” Bernd rubs slow circles on your waist while his other hand gestures to the quiet bar.

“I’d love a drink. Especially if you’re paying.” A mischievous smile tugs at your lips as you bite them. The goalie glances at your Arsenal red lips, then rolls his eyes at you, smiling despite himself. He turns to Pierre and Alex, who smirk at you and Bernd.

“We’re getting drinks.” Bernd tells the boys before he steers you away from the protests of the forwards. A gentle hand cups your wrist and pulls you through the crowd.

You blink and you’re sat at the bar, a glass of water and a concerned goalkeeper in front of you. You take him in: blue eyes focused on you, chest exposed by a slightly unbuttoned shirt, fitted slacks stretched across his long legs, his huge bulge–

You reach for the glass of water and down it in one go, which makes Bernd laugh.

“Feeling better?”

“Much. You really know how to make saves on and off the pitch, huh?”

“I’d like to think so.” Bernd holds your gaze, then smirks, “Had to save my mates from your horrible dancing, didn’t I?”

“Shut up. Is this how you treat your best physio? You can pay for our drinks because of that.” You wave down the bartender and order your drinks, a beer for him and a blow job shot for you. When you order, Bernd chokes on his water and you burst into laughter.

“I already agreed to pay for your drink. And you’re definitely not the best physiotherapist at Arsenal.” Bernd says once he clears his throat, voice serious. His eyes, however, crinkle at the edges before they gaze into your own.

“But you are my favorite one.”

You hold eye contact with Bernd, the man you have worked with for years, the man who says you’re his favorite physiotherapist. A warmth blooms in your chest, like you downed several shots. The heat spreads to your face when the bartender sets down your drinks, a dark ale and a coffee liqueur crowned with whipped cream. You immediately throw back the shot and hope Bernd attributes your blush to the alcohol.

“You’re my favorite, too. Player, that is. Even when you concede two easy goals.”

“At least I didn’t concede four.” Bernd rolls his eyes, which dart to your smirk, your Gunner red lipstick and the fleck of whipped cream on them. He automatically reaches out and wipes your lips with his thumb. Your eyes fly up and meet his. Bernd drops his hand but it’s too late: the flush deepens on your face and your pulse roars.

“If Son had played well today, you wouldn’t have stood a chance,” you tease, dispelling the awkward silence.

“Ah, does someone have a crush on a Korean forward?”

“No. Not my type.”

“Then what’s your type?” His tone seems casual but his eyes burn holes into you.

“Oh, you know, tall and blond.” You lean forward a little and your eyes flick up to Bernd as you gauge his reaction.

“German.” Bernd licks his lips, shifts forward slightly so his knees brush against yours.

“Looks really sexy in goal.” Daringly, your thumb traces the muscles above his knee, which stiffen under your touch.

“Yea?” Bernd whispers, husky and low.

“Yea, Ter Stegen is really attractive.”

“God. Shut up.” Bernd laughs out before you can say it’s just banter. He pulls back so your knees no longer touch, so your hand falls off his lower thigh and you scramble to save the situation.

“Make me?” You whisper, your voice almost inaudible in the thumping club.  
Blue eyes, wide and surprised, fly up to your face. You curse yourself and your stupid liquid courage. You’re already thinking of ways to escape the situation when a warm hand rests on your knee, when Bernd leans in and his lips brush against your ear.

“Want to get out of here? So I can, you know, make you shut up?” You can _hear_ Bernd’s smirk and something - maybe surprise, arousal or both - flutters in your stomach. You pull back to look at him.

“My place is a few blocks from here?” You whisper, a smile spreading on your own lips, your heart hammering in your chest. He leans forward again and grinning lips brush your ear.

“Then let’s go.” 

A warm hand holds your wrist and tugs you away from the bar, past the crowd into the cold London air. 

*****

His hand still encircles your wrist when you unlock your flat, when you shut out the frigid wind. Bernd only lets go when you both start to pull off your jackets and place them on your coat hanger. 

“God, it’s cold, innit? Can’t feel my face.” You gingerly touch your red cheeks. Suddenly larger, warmer hands cup your face. You look up and Bernd’s eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, pierce into your own. Leaning in, Bernd hovers closer and closer, mere centimeters from your face. His eyes dart to your lips but he doesn’t move, doesn’t close the little space between you both. And in that moment, that space feels too far after years of working with Bernd, helping him with injuries, cheering him on.

You can’t wait any longer. 

You close the distance between your lips, move yours softly but insistently against his. You pull back, searching his eyes for doubt. His eyes linger on yours for maybe a few seconds, maybe a lifetime. But then he surges forward and closes the distance again, drinking in your lips, licking into your mouth. You moan into the kiss and cover one of the hands on your face with your own. 

You lose your clothing in the hall like Arsenal players lose their kits after a win. Soft fingertips dance at the hem of your dress and pull it over your head. You undo his button up, one button at a time, as your lips brush against his over and over. Your dress and his shirt, then his slacks fall to the floor and your hands map out his bare shoulders, his abdomen. 

By the time you reach your bedroom, you both only wear your underwear. And wow, is that a sight: Bernd straining against his briefs, shining with sweat, standing in front of silky bedsheets. Your hands, shaking slightly, push Bernd’s chest, push him onto the bed, onto _your_ bed. Fuck, Bernd is sitting on your bed, eyes on you and legs spread, inviting you to step between them. So you do. 

Your fingers find his neck and his hands find your waist. You surge forward and your lips press against his. When you suck his lower lip between your teeth, Bernd groans and deepens the kiss, slips his tongue inside your mouth. 

His hands move from your waist to the back of your thighs and lift you onto his lap. Hot, wet kisses echo off the walls as your tongues lunge and slide against each other. Strong hands pull your hips down and you’re flush against each other, his clothed erection brushing against your lips through your soaked thong, making you moan loud and needy.

Devouring your mouth, Bernd slips a hand into your panties. Long fingers stroke your wet lips before he dips inside you. Then there’s a thumb on that little pleasure button and sparks fly under your eyelids. He thrusts his fingers into your slick heat as he flicks his thumb on your clit and it’s too good, too much. You break the kiss, push him back with a palm on his chest.

“Stop. Gonna cum.” You pant against his lips. 

“Isn’t that the point?” Bernd cocks an eyebrow and smirks at you. You roll your eyes, shove his chest.

“You have a condom?” 

Bernd nods, pats the back of your thigh. You slide off his lap and wait on the bed as he retrieves a condom from his pants in the hall. Leaning back against the headboard, your eyes flutter shut, your pulse thunders just thinking about Bernd, thinking about what he’s going to do to you, thinking about what he _does_ to you.

A hand starts stroking the inside of your thighs, teases the edge of your panties. You keep your eyes closed, just enjoying Bernd’s soft touches on your skin. But then hot lips suck your thigh, your hip, the front of your thong. Your eyes fly open when a wet tongue licks your clit through the cloth. Groaning, you tangle your hands in his blond strands as he mouths your folds, flicks his tongue on the clit again. You twist and tug him off, bring him up to your lips and against his mouth, you whisper that you’re ready. 

He slides your thong off and it flies to the floor, followed by his briefs. Your mouth waters at the sight of his length. His long cock stands against his stomach, precum leaking out of the angry, reddening head. 

He tears the condom open and rolls it down himself. His hands grab your hips, pull you down so your back is on the mattress. Unconsciously, your thighs part for him. He fills the space between your legs, then fills the space inside you, guiding his cock to your wet hole and sinking into you, first his head, then the length and base. You gasp when his balls hit your ass. You feel so full, so full of Bernd stretching your throbbing walls. He holds your hips, caressing circles into the skin, and his eyes stare into yours.

“Bernd, please. Fuck me.” You gasp out, throwing your head back, exposing your neck, which Bernd eagerly sucks and kisses open-mouthed. He licks a stripe from collarbone to ear, tilts your hips up slightly, pulls out.

And then he pounds into you, sheaths himself in one movement. He fucks you open, pelvis vacillating back and forward. His hands squeeze your hips, his grip becoming more bruising with each thrust, each clap of skin on skin. Your moans mingle with the slap of slick skin, with Bernd’s grunts.

Bernd slides onto his forearms, drops a kiss on your neck, your breast while he fucks your hole hard, shaking the bed with every movement. Although his chest burns against your bare breast, you need him even closer so you hook your legs around his back and pull him down. His hand finds your breast, cups it and pinches the nipple, eliciting a needy cry from you. At the same time, his hips plunge inside you over and over again, brush your clit with the new angle, with each thrust and you’re coming undone, heat uncoiling in your abdomen and his name rolling off your lips.

As your walls contract around his length, he lets out a long, deep groan and empties his load inside you, his body falling on you as he yells your name.  
For a moment, it’s just your hand rubbing his back and him breathing into your neck. His body slumps on top of yours, spent and fucked out. Then he gets off you, slides onto his side, ties and tosses the condom. Arms encircle you again and Bernd pulls your back into his chest. Your eyes flutter shut, relishing the warmth, his arms around you-

Bernd’s cell phone starts ringing like mad on the bedside table. 

Cursing, Bernd sits up and rubs a hand down his face before he blindly reaches for the bedside with the other.

“Who is this?” Bernd all but groans when he answers the phone, making you giggle at his grumpiness. 

“Bernd! Where are you guys? And why are you breathing so much?” A thick French accent yells on the other end of the line. Bernd tears the phone away from his ear. Then his eyes widen and realization dawns on his face.

“Oh, hey Alex. We- We went to Y/N’s because-“ Bernd raises his eyebrows and looks at you pleadingly. But you offer no help as you smother your laughter with your hand. Bernd rolls his eyes at you, a fond smile on his face. 

“Because Y/N got sick at the club. So I took her to her flat.” A definitely drunk Alex gasps and slurs that he hopes you feel better, that he’s glad Bernd is taking care of you. You lean into the receiver of Bernd’s phone.

“Oh, he definitely took care of me,” you wiggle your eyebrows at Bernd, who blushes as red as an Arsenal kit, “How much have you lads had to drink?” 

“Y/N! We’ve had- Pierre, how much have we had?” The two men start giggling uncontrollably.

“We’ve had about...a lot. We’ve had a lot.” You can practically hear Pierre’s goofy grin and Alex starts giggling again. Bernd pulls the phone back to his ear. 

“Promise me you’ll get a cab.” It takes a few minutes - the boys still are brainstorming what drinks they’ve had, losing count after six shots each - but they finally assure Bernd that they will get a ride home before they scream their goodbyes. A sigh of relief leaves Bernd’s lips as he returns his phone to the nightstand. He slides back under the covers and snakes an arm around you.

“What a fib, that was. Someone’s made a lot of saves today.” You snuggle into Bernd’s side and smile into his chest.

“You all put me through hell. Especially you. I can deal with drunk forwards, but you and your banter?” Bernd shakes his head and a laugh escapes you.

“You love me though.” When you realize what you just said, you hide your face more in Bernd’s chest. There’s a beat of silence and you wonder if he can feel your heart thudding against his chest.

“How could I not?” Bernd whispers, presses a kiss on your forehead. Realization dawns on you and you can’t help but smile into Bernd’s chest and kiss him once, twice on his pec, then his ribs.

“I am pretty lovable, aren’t I?”

“Oh my god, shut up.” Bernd laughs, loud and booming, “Go to sleep.” A hand strokes your side and his warm arm tightens around you, making you snuggle closer. With a smile on your lips, you drift off to the sound of Bernd’s breathing, held close by the man who always saves the day.


End file.
